


Genesis of Haikyuu: One Hell of a Trip

by gudlyfe2007



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Acid Trips, Drug Use, LOTS of satire, Mentions of Mental Illness, Other, Satire, TW self harm jokes, Therapy, acid dropping, and to be brutally honest..., dark humour, destruction of property, douglas adams is my lord and savior, inspired by his writing style, just a rewrite of Haikyuu!! but in the style of hitchhiker's guide, like i said this is all satire, narc shimizu, so its technically not an AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-17
Updated: 2016-12-17
Packaged: 2018-09-09 03:00:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8873086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gudlyfe2007/pseuds/gudlyfe2007
Summary: “I’m glad we’ve established that.” There was yet another long pause. “I really need to leave for no other reason than I have the overwhelming urge to stick my hands in a toaster. These conversations with you just do that to me. Also I’m not guaranteeing anything on the volleyball club without being at least 50% appeased and also allowed to carry self-defense items with me at all times.”  “Fair enough.” And with that the two men temporarily parted ways, the principal to go back to a painfully boring public education job that he was inanely apathetic about while being accompanied by intrusive thoughts about jumping out the window and Ukai to go do whatever he did in his spare time and didn’t remember the next day.--some preface: Txt received from: Nikki, Wednesday 6:29 PMThis is beautiful what is it Txt sent from: Judah, Yesterday 12:04 AM\It's from my peak. a rewrite of a sports anime but in the style of Adam Douglas and my myriad of mental illnesses are spread out between the characters. I can't write anything else after I finish this. this is it. my peak.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I can't believe I actually indulged myself at 12 AM and wrote this and I can't believe that my reason for living is my unexplained will to share this idea with the world

“So you want to start a writer’s club here at Karasuno high,” said a generic unnamed principal who one would think would be more integral to the story yet is not. Ukai nodded solemnly. 

 

“And I see that last week you had left me several transcripts of a book you’re working on now. From what I understand, your goal for creating a writer’s club would be to open more young people’s minds to the joys of creativity and self-expression, am I correct?” 

 

“Yes. And it’s actually not just a ‘book’ it’s more of a memoir.” The principal’s brow crinkled slightly in concern. 

 

“So...all these things really happened to you and you wrote about them in the manuscript?” 

 

“Yes.” 

 

“Well, I will first of all state that should any of my students create a work based off of their life that is as unsettling as yours I would urge them to call the police immediately.” 

 

“In hindsight that’s something I should’ve done,” admitted Ukai. 

 

“Hindsight is 20/20 when you’re running from a kidnapper in a parking lot full of broken glass.” 

 

“Is that a reference to chapter two of my manuscript?” 

 

“It is. However it frightens me to say that the story of how you narrowly avoided being kidnapped outside the Japanese equivalent of a 7-Eleven at 3 am was the least disturbing tale recalled in your memoir.” The principal paused and shifted in his large leather chair. “If I had a genuine care for the students here - and don’t tell anyone, but I don’t, and quite frankly when anyone gets past six months working in a deteriorating public school system in the utmost bottom of the shitter of the sketchiest neighborhood in the district they stop caring-” 

 

“It’s common knowledge actually.” 

 

“-I would ask you to leave the premises immediately and never come within fifty feet of Karasuno again.” The air was still with a long, uncomfortable pause. Ukai’s mind wandered through the brief thirty seconds of the cosmically lifeless corpse of the shady office. He felt like this was The Godfather but with less tastefulness and more risk of being sent to a ward. 

 

“But, as it stands, we do need a coach for a new club.” Ukai perked up, yet his face, cold and stony like a cold stone including the weird marks and nature’s age spots, premature on him, did not betray his excitement. 

 

“So I’m going to assign you to, instead of being the writer’s club coach, be the coach of the volleyball club.” 

 

“Please do not do this to me.” 

 

“You have a history of coaching volleyball.” 

 

“And it almost killed me. I have PTSD.” 

 

“Your team won Nationals three times.” 

 

“I coached a sociopathic teenager who broke into my flat and killed my parakeet.” 

 

“I recall hearing about that, actually. He was transferred out of Karasuno but has a little brother who will be a first year.” 

 

“If he joins the volleyball club I will kill myself.” 

 

“Is quitting not the easier thing to do than going through the trouble of killing yourself over a minor inconvenience such a sociopathic athlete?” 

 

“Considering the death toll of my pets and potentially all of my last two chances for the world to prove me wrong that my life is not a festering pus-filled zit placed on the bloody face of the universe by a sick god, then no.” 

 

The principal sighed and his eyes glazed over, giving him the look of a defeated and divorced middle aged man with a career he didn’t want, which he was. “I wish we could all afford the guts and the pills that I assume you have if you intend to kill yourself instead of simply quitting your job.” 

 

“The more you talk the more I honestly want to find the most painful way to kill myself. Listening to you is like listening to the suicide note of a defeated and divorced middle aged man with a career he didn’t want.” 

 

“Which I am,” the principal sadly confirmed. 

 

“I’m glad we’ve established that.” There was yet another long pause. “I really need to leave for no other reason than I have the overwhelming urge to stick my hands in a toaster. These conversations with you just do that to me. Also I’m not guaranteeing anything on the volleyball club without being at least 50% appeased and also allowed to carry self-defense items with me at all times.” 

 

“Fair enough.” And with that the two men temporarily parted ways, the principal to go back to a painfully boring public education job that he was inanely apathetic about while being accompanied by intrusive thoughts about jumping out the window and Ukai to go do whatever he did in his spare time and didn’t remember the next day.

 

\--

 

“So, these characters, they’re all based on people that you knew in real life?” Takeda-san asked the client sitting in his office. 

 

“That is true.”

 

“So...this one, Kay, a fifteen year old sociopath is-” 

 

“Based on a boy on a volleyball team I coached years ago. And the student who collects unneeded organs from hospitals is a metaphor for how people who bullied me as a child broke all of my emotions.” 

 

“Sounds like an edgy vocaloid song.” 

 

“The concept of the organs being originally unneeded to patients at the hospital reveals that all the emotions that I was stripped of as a boy turned out to be useless later on in my life. Who needs happiness when you can get a pack of expired Newport 100s for 250 Yen deal from your regular prostitute. Who needs naturally-occurring sadness and mood swings when you can purposely inflict those feelings on yourself through mind-altering drugs.” Ukai paused. “And yes, chapter six was partially inspired by a Miku Hatsune song. But that’s not that important.” 

 

Takeda leaned back in his seat. “I see. Despite the obvious influence of Hatsune, I also wanted to make a comment about the general style of your writing. It’s very Douglas Adams -esque.” 

 

“I wrote it in the style of Douglas Adams to spite a former roommate I had whose favorite book was ‘A Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy.’ My hatred for him is validated in the scene where Oumi shoves a fish down Byron’s ear during a Ritalin withdrawal. Am I at a publisher’s office or a therapy appointment?” Ukai deadpanned. Suddenly Takeda’s hand flew up to his mouth and he swallowed something off his palm. He revealed an extra tab of acid to Ukai from his other hand. 

 

“That’s up to you. Personally, this entire time I’ve been talking to a middle school counselor about the five girls who tried to drown me on the swim team in grade school.” Ukai took the tab out of Takeda’s hand. The black haired man then slouched forward, holding his head as if he were in great pain. 

 

“You look like you’re in great pain,” said Ukai. 

 

“I am,” Takeda confirmed as tears rolled out the corner of his eyes. He looked up at Ukai and Ukai realized that those eyes were dead inside. 

 

“Your eyes look like you’re dead inside,” said Ukai. 

 

“I am.” 

 

Hours, which were actually minutes in sober people time, passed as Ukai made more comments that this now mysterious man confirmed. In ten of any kind of time, Ukai confirmed that Takeda was also a writer, but instead of healthily writing a memoir about his life to come to terms with repressed trauma, he coped by recreating dark humour satirical novels with characters from his favorite anime while drunk at his mother’s kitchen counter at three am. 

 

“God,” he screamed in pain, “wouldn’t it be fucked up if WE were actually part of someone’s unhealthy coping mechanisms?” 

 

“What do you mean?” Ukai screamed back as an acid-induced blizzard tore apart the room that they may or may not be sitting in. 

 

“It’s just that,” Takeda started through his tears, “what if we are nothing more than puppets, Ukai? What if we’re all hung up on a literary string and being forced to dance out a sick tale on the unempathetic whim of a washed-up volleyball star turned manically depressed alcoholic author?” 

 

“There’s no way that we can’t NOT disprove that theory,” said the principal from the spot on the floor next to him as he popped his own pill of acid. “However, all three of us are stuck in this mess whether we like it or not.” 

 

“Are we really now?” Ukai said smugly as he launched an eight-pound toaster filled with lead and tied to a noose around his neck over the balcony. 

 

\--

 

 

Kiyoko Shimizu, volleyball club manager, walks into the police station seventeen hours later. The acid has worn off. 

 

“Do you remember the last thing you said before you jumped off the stands in the empty gym of Karasuno at 2 am after talking with the principal who asked you to coach the volleyball club?” she asked Ukai. 

 

“The principal was there with us. He said there’s no way out of this mess,” Ukai replied, pupils for some reason still blown wide. He hung his head and sighed at what a mess there was that he apparently had no way out of.

 

“Yes. And that’s true. You and Takeda-sensei are stuck coaching the volleyball club no matter what happens now because it’s the only steady source of income either of you have readily available due to both of your inability to get a job and criminal history,” Kiyoko tells him as she cleans the clip of her police-department issued gun. Ukai studied her closely before realizing something. 

 

“Are you a narc?” 

 

“I am not a narc,” Kiyoko said. 

 

“I’ll fucking kill you, you little narc bitch!” Ukai heard the principal scream from down the hallway of his holding cell. 

 

“Huh. Alright then. Anyway, what makes you think that I have a need or will to make money anyway? I don’t need any coaching job to keep me afloat.” 

 

“You do because in all your acid-induced endeavors you, the principal, and Takeda-sensei absolutely demolished the school gym. You need to pay back all the equipment you destroyed and the portion of drywall that Takeda-sensei ate.” 

 

“The acid blizzard,” Ukai muttered as the last 17 hours and his entire childhood came rushing back to him. 

 

“Sure. Whatever. In any case, your job starts tomorrow, and you have exactly 90,000 Yen worth of damages to pay back, so that means that you’ll also have to cut back on therapy appointments and prescription medication.” 

 

“Fair enough. Adderall didn’t do anything for me besides make me popular and rich during finals week in college anyway.”

**Author's Note:**

> me @ me W H Y


End file.
